So I am standing over the skeletal remains of my Japanese mother-in-law contemplating which bone to pick from the ashes of her cremated body using chopsticks not unlike those used for cooking a good stir fry. It’s the weirdest feeling.

These days countless controller apps and hardware controller devices promise emancipation from the dreaded computer interface. DJs and live performers have fallen head over heels over the concept that touching the computer somehow lessens an onstage appearance and the act of touching the computer at all is often met with derision and disdain.

Or Whose Party Is This Anyway?
Stretching the idea of art being like a “Grand Conversation” the question arises, just who’s holding it? It’s a delicate wrinkle on the canvas to pull out because, even though theoretically anyone can join in, the conversation itself is largely dominated by a group of people who, for want of a better word, are an “elite”.

Or Why a Child Couldn’t Paint That.
In 1964 Pierre Brassau exhibited four avante-garde paintings in Goteburg Sweden to favourable reviews, but it later turned out to be a hoax perpetrated by a local journalist to put art critics to the test.

First things first.

There are always a number of people who have invested a lot of time and energy into obsoleting skills and technology and they often bemoan those who learn and make use of the new tools that displace them.